


Vocud

by raunchyandpaunchy



Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Angst, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Face-Fucking, Fantastic Racism, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Gore, M/M, Masturbation, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Revenge, Thalmor, Torture, Verbal Humiliation, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-08
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-06 22:51:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17354111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raunchyandpaunchy/pseuds/raunchyandpaunchy
Summary: Drevis has been following Ancano into the Midden Dark for weeks now, cloaked in magic and compelled by lustful fixation. What he doesn’t know is that Ancano has been well aware of his presence.





	1. Morjul

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney) and [Syllis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis) for beta reading this fic for me—it wouldn't be anywhere near the quality it is if it hadn't been for them. <3
> 
> This is an extremely dark work—far darker than anything else I've written. If this isn't your thing, please give this one a miss. All main triggers/themes are tagged, and you can find more specific content info/trigger warnings in the end notes of each chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Rape, torture, fantastic racism and verbal degradation/humiliation.

Ancano had been skulking down to the Midden rather a lot. Between classes, when the creak of the trapdoor would be muffled under footsteps. In the evenings, when students and staff alike had absconded to their rooms, busy with their own projects. At night, under the light of Masser, when nobody was around to see.

Or so he thought. 

Drevis Neloren saw everything.

Drevis had become suspicious of the Thalmor agent when he had hounded him with questions—about the College, about Savos, and more recently, about what lay underneath the Halls. One evening after supper, he had noticed the Altmer casting furtive glances toward the trapdoor in the corner of the Hall, and had employed his powers of Illusion to follow him. Muffled and invisible, Drevis had shadowed him all the way down to the Midden Dark, where Ancano had scoured each passageway before settling down to drink his wine and write in his log. It was difficult to see much over Ancano’s shoulder, as he was a great deal taller than Drevis, but he managed to make out some words: _no suspicious activity_ , _staff proving uncooperative_ , _Augur of Dunlain_.

Well, that would explain his visits to the College underground… partially, at least. Drevis had watched with growing hunger as the haughty Altmer had unfastened his Thalmor robes and taken himself in hand, cheeks flushed and lips wine-stained. As Ancano’s breaths hitched, Drevis couldn’t stop himself from wrapping his hand around his own length, careful to keep his breaths quiet and steady as he watched the other mer buck and come into his own hand.

It became a sort of strange ritual for the pair: Ancano retiring to the Midden to perform his ablutions, unknowingly accompanied by Drevis. Over time, Drevis began to forget the original intentions behind following Ancano, too distracted now by the scent of sandalwood and spiced wine that clung to him to register the words he was scribing diligently in his journal. Instead of keeping track of suspicious activity, Drevis committed to memory the way Ancano’s hair glimmered in the faint magelight, the way he languidly stroked his formidable length, the short whimpers he made as he reached his peak. He found himself wondering who Ancano might be thinking of as he took himself in hand—man or mer, male or female, his own kind or someone of completely different creed and caste? Drevis bit his lip hard each night as he struggled to stay hidden and keep composure, hoping that Ancano might lose his own and spill himself over his immaculate robes.

Thoughts of these stolen encounters kept Drevis awake at night, his hard cock straining uncomfortably against his loincloth. On nights when he was sure no one was awake, when he had cloaked himself in magicka and stroked himself to his pleasure, he’d been convinced for a moment in the haze of orgasm that he could see a pair of golden eyes staring back at him from the darkness.

At the Sanctum on Fredas, he felt his attention slip as he revelled in the gliding heat of the Bosmer pleasuring him—imagining the hair he was fisting was white-gold instead of copper, the mouth wrapped around his cock sneering rather than smiling. But it wasn’t enough.

He returned to the College on Sundas, still itching with untapped want. Grabbing the bottles of sujamma he’d squirrelled away in his room, he slunk down to the Midden Dark and waited.

Drevis was two bottles deep before he heard soft footsteps, the swish of robes. With a swift flick of his wrist and a few muttered words, Drevis vanished, all trace of him gone as Ancano entered the alcove.

Ancano shrugged his head from the hood of his robes, running his gloved fingers through his white-blonde hair. He sighed and removed his gloves, biting down on the leather and coaxing the garments off with his teeth, slowly and deliberately. Drevis felt his pulse quicken; his breath hitched. He fancied he could see a smirk form on Ancano’s face. Slowly, Ancano unfastened the buckles that ran the front of his robes, rolling his shoulders out of one side and then the other in one fluid motion before draping the cloak neatly over a nearby chair. He folded up the sleeves of his robes, exposing long, toned forearms, then lounged back on the seat. _This is moving much quicker than usual. The mer hasn’t even had a drink or written his log… maybe he’s just as desperate as I am…_ Slender fingers unbuckled trousers and slowly, teasingly inched down his loincloth, exposing the long, thick cock within. Drevis bit back a moan, aching to touch it. He settled for wrapping his hand around his own instead, watching eagerly as Ancano swiped his thumb across the bead of precum that had formed atop the head. Drevis followed suit, imagining his own hand was Ancano’s, thinking of Ancano’s breath against his neck as he—

“Enjoying yourself, Neloren?”

Drevis froze, his blood running cold.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t see you?” Drevis could hear the disdain in Ancano’s voice. “Your little tricks might fool the others here, but you’re going to have to do better than mere Invisibility to fool me.” Drevis finally met Ancano’s gaze—his expression was somewhere between disgust and pity. “Come now. I’m an Altmer and a Thalmor agent.” Ancano’s eyes never left Drevis as he pulled back up his breeches, smoothing the fabric of his robes so they once again sat neatly. “And I can smell the sujamma rolling off of you from here. _Graxifalas_.”

Drevis burned with shame. Ancano was right—he’d gotten sloppy. He tucked himself back into his robes, internally cursing his shortsightedness.

“Quite the discovery, really,” Ancano drawled, the gold in his eyes glimmering. “This _will_ make an interesting report to Mirabelle. I doubt even tenure would save you from _that_ accusation.”

“Really?” Drevis scoffed. “Is your report going to include how you let me watch you toss yourself off of an evening?” His eyebrow raised. “Maybe I should send a similar report to the First Emissary. I’m sure she’d be very interested in hearing all about your visits with the Augur of Dunlain—”

Ancano closed the gap, gripping Drevis’ jaw tight.

“Listen, Neloren, and listen well. I’m not about to have my plans thwarted by some second rate spellcaster. You have no idea what we Thalmor are capable of, and I daresay you wouldn’t like to find out.”

Drevis attempted to keep his breaths steady. His hands hung by his sides, sweating and worrying at his robes. Ancano’s hand moved to the pendant that hung around Drevis’ neck, and his thumb ran over the insignia engraved in the metal.

“If I were to go to Mirabelle, or even the Arch-Mage, I’m sure other staff members could vouch for your absence on the times I’ve outlined—we Thalmor have spectacular memories, you see. Speaking of memory—” Ancano traced his fingers over the pendant. “I seem to remember this same symbol from elsewhere. Now, where was it…? Ah yes—I believe that lippy little half-breed mage that attends the College part-time also wears one of these.” He stroked the metal, running the chain through his fingers. “I’ve seen the way you look at her, Neloren—seen the way she follows you about. What’s laughable is neither of you think it’s noticeable.” Ancano’s lip curled. “I doubt it’d take too much investigation to get to the bottom of _that_.”

Drevis swallowed. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Ancano let go of the pendant, letting it fall against Drevis’ pounding chest.

“Are we done?” The words had meant to come out steady, but there was an unevenness to them that Drevis hated. He made to move, before being blocked by Ancano; a sinister smile on his face.

Ancano’s hand wrapped around Drevis’ still-hard cock in his robes, making him jump. “Oh no, you’re not leaving.” His hand squeezed, and Drevis gasped. “Not until I’m done with you.”

Drevis scowled at the Thalmor who held him in place, pointedly ignoring the way he throbbed against the mer’s hand. “Let me go.”

“ _Adma’na_ ,” Ancano tutted, his tone mocking. “I already told you I’m not done with you. And I won’t be done with you until I’ve got you at my mercy.” He smirked. “I doubt that’ll be terribly hard.”

 _Arrogant fucking arsehole._ “Speaking of hard, I wonder what’s undernea—”

Drevis’ thoughts were cut short by the hand that flew across his face. The impact threw him backward, shock and sujamma making him stagger.

“You will speak when spoken to, insolent little mer.” Ancano’s hand gripped Drevis’ face like a vice, golden eyes boring into him. “Unless you’d like to find out what else I’m capable of.”

Drevis decided he didn’t, and stayed quiet. His face stung.

“Good. You’re so much better when you shut up.” Ancano smiled, taking Drevis in with a predatory gaze. “Kneel.”

The grin curled across Drevis’ face before he could stop it. _Oh, so that’s what he wants?_ Drevis complied, reaching for Ancano’s cock only to have his hands pinned above his head for his efforts. One of Ancano’s hands held Drevis’ wrists in place as the other freed his length from his robes, holding it forward.

Drevis’ mouth opened, and long, cold fingers gripped his hair, pulling him further in. Tentatively, his lips engulfed the head of Ancano’s cock, his tongue lightly grazing over the tip and savouring the salty-sweet taste of the precum that had dried there.

His lingering was short lived. Ancano rammed his length down Drevis’ throat in one rough, swift motion, the shock of the impact making his eyes water as he struggled to adjust to the rhythm. Saliva dripped obscenely down Drevis’ chin as his lips wrapped around Ancano’s cock, his jaw already beginning to ache. Ancano’s quickening breaths and low, intermittent growls made Drevis’ own cock strain aggressively against his loincloth.

“So… very… accommodating…” Ancano’s hold on Drevis’ hair tightened, nearly twisting it out of his scalp. “You’re much more agreeable when you obey your superiors.”

Drevis moved to object, but Ancano’s hands held him in a death grip, forcing his cock deeper down his throat. A choked gag echoed through the alcove as Ancano thrust hard and rough into Drevis’ mouth. Drevis moaned desperately, three times in quick succession, hoping Ancano would stop.

But of course he wouldn’t. They weren’t in the Sanctum.

_Shit._

Drevis squirmed in Ancano’s grasp, but his movements only made him grip harder, fingernails digging into his wrists. Bile rose in Drevis’ throat, biting at the already tender flesh. Tears streamed down his cheeks. He could barely breathe. His heartbeat pounded in his ears, dulling out the slick, messy sounds of Ancano fucking his face. All he could do was whimper against Ancano’s cock as it pistoned in and out of his drooling mouth, and wait for it to end.

Gratifyingly, Ancano’s thrusts slowed, and he pulled out of Drevis with a slick pop. Drevis gasped for breath, and felt Ancano let go of his wrists, allowing him to wipe the spit and tears from his face.

He glared at Ancano. “Superior?” The word came out in a hoarse growl, his throat aching from the effort. “You’re not my fucking _superior_. You’re an Altmer in fancy robes with a misplaced sense of self-importance.”

Fury shot through Ancano’s eyes, the glimmer of gold now overtaken by darkness. He fisted Drevis’ hair, tighter and tighter. Drevis hissed, the corners of his vision dimming with the intensity of the pain. The corner of Ancano’s mouth curled.

“How unfortunate.” Ancano looked down at him, eyes narrowing. He let go of Drevis’ hair, moving to grip him by the throat. “I thought you’d learned your place by now, Neloren.” Tightening his grip, he pulled him to his feet by the neck. He leaned in, his voice hot against Drevis’ ear. “I’ll just have to teach you, won’t I?”

He towered over Drevis. The grip around his neck hadn’t lessened, and Ancano’s gaze continued to pierce into him, waiting for an answer. As much as it pained Drevis, at this moment, the mer exuded power, and he knew when he was beat.

He nodded.

“I told you,” said Ancano, clipped and quiet, “You speak when spoken to.”

Another brutal slap struck Drevis’ face, the same burning shape layered over the first. Heat bloomed across the tender area as it ached.

“Yes, _serjo_.”

“That’s better. Now be a good little mer and undress.”

Drevis complied, grateful to feel Ancano’s hand leave his throat as he did so. He awkwardly shuffled out of his boots and stepped out of the billowy fabric of his trousers and robes, leaving him in only his loincloth.

Ancano was unimpressed. “They must pay you a pittance, wearing rags like that.”

Fingernails dug into flesh as Drevis clenched his fists. His hands loosened and he hooked his thumbs into his loincloth, pulling the material down and off of his body. There he stood, exposed for the Thalmor agent, awaiting his next orders. His stomach turned at the thought; his cock throbbed in the ultimate betrayal.

“Auri-El, we really _are_ the superior race, aren’t we?” Ancano said, gesturing to Drevis’ cock. “It’s a wonder you can even get the job done with that thing.”

“I’ve never had any complaints,” Drevis responded, trying to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “A dagger wielded by a master bladesman is more fearsome than a greatsword held by a novice.”

“I can assure you that Elven steel in the hands of a Thalmor agent is even more of a sight to behold,” Ancano crooned. “Of course, you already know that, don’t you? You just haven’t felt it in action yet.” The smile Ancano flashed was utterly predatory, bright white teeth gleaming in the dim light. “You will, though. Lean against that wall over there.”

Reluctantly, Drevis obeyed, realising too late that there were a set of shackles fixed to the wall above. His wrists were fastened in place, his bare form presented for Ancano’s own purposes.

“Now, I believe your tongue was wagging beforehand about my ‘misplaced sense of self-importance’.” Ancano’s eyes gleamed with sheer malevolence, and his low voice made Drevis’ skin crawl. He could hear the faint crackle of something, like static, and then spotted it—curls of lightning magicka surrounding Ancano’s hand. “Shall we see how you feel about that now?”

“No!” Drevis’ voice came out in a squeak. “No, please—”

Bolts of lightning shot through him, rapid and agonising, each impact hitting him like a warhammer. His body convulsed involuntarily, his muscles contracting as the electricity coursed through them.

“Say it.”

“Please stop—”

Another barrage of lightning followed, striking areas that had been missed before. Drevis thrashed against the shackles, keening out in pain. Tears streaked his face. _What kind of fucking idiot follows a Thalmor agent into a dark place and lets himself—_

“Say. It.”

“Gods, I’m sorry, I—”

A third strike rained down on Drevis, slamming him into the wall behind. Every inch of him ached and twitched, his body crying out in agony. He could hear screams, which he slowly realised were coming from himself.

Ancano’s eyes bored into him.

“You… you are my superior, _serjo_.”

“That wasn’t so hard now, was it?” Ancano’s smug smirk made Drevis’ stomach turn. “Now, maybe if you cooperate some more I’ll give you what you really want.”

Drevis panted, still riding out the waves of pain and electricity that jolted through him. He watched as Ancano strolled to the table and fetched something from his cloak pocket, humming lightly under his breath.

“Now,” Ancano said, returning. “What do you know about the Arch-Mage’s little excursion? You know, the one that got everyone else killed.”

Sweat dripped from Drevis’ body.

“No more than you do, probably,” said Drevis, attempting to feign ignorance.

Ancano tutted. “We can do this the easy way,” he said, holding up the small bottle of oil he’d retrieved, “or we can do it the hard way.” He held up his other hand, cloaked in lightning.

Drevis choked back a shudder. “I swear I don’t know much—”

“Then let’s start with what you do know,” Ancano said, placing his cloaked hand over Drevis’ throat and gripping tight. Drevis could feel the slight shocks of the electricity that snaked around Ancano’s hand and licked at his neck—a reminder of what could happen if he didn’t obey.

“When did this excursion take place?”

“4E197, I’m fairly sure,” Drevis said, struggling to recollect.

“And how many students?”

Drevis panicked. _4? 5? More still?_ He couldn’t remember. He felt lightning bite at his neck as Ancano’s grip tightened.

“How many, Neloren?”

“I—I think 5, _serjo_! Please don’t shock me, I’m trying to remember. One girl was a student of mine, she—”

“Okay, I don’t need their entire life story,” Ancano spat. “Now, where did this excursion take place?”

 _Shit_. The one detail Savos had asked them to never disclose. But Drevis had a hand around his neck, and shackles around his wrists, and a Thalmor agent at the end of both.

“Where, Neloren?”

Ancano’s fingers dug deeper, slowly cutting off circulation. Pulses of electricity nipped and singed at his skin, making him spasm uncontrollably.

“La—Lab…”

Ancano’s eyebrow raised. “What’s that?”

“L… Labyrinthian.” The word spilled from Drevis’ lips, survival trumping loyalty. Self-loathing consumed him as Ancano beamed in triumph.

“ _Alaxon_ ,” Ancano murmured, and Drevis was unsure if it was at the information or his defeat. “You’ve served me well, so I suppose I should be magnanimous and give you what you want.”

He said it as if it was a great inconvenience as he pulled off his tunic and took his stiff cock out of his breeches, pouring the oil into his hand and working it onto his length. Ancano’s hands gripped Drevis’ legs, pressing them up against his sides, and Drevis felt every joint ache with tension. His heart thudded against his chest, every touch sending twin shivers of dread and desire creeping across his skin. Obscenely spread, Ancano’s slick fingers ran over over the pucker of his arsehole, circling and coaxing his way inside.

“I doubt I’d even need the oil,” Ancano drawled, working his finger in deeper. “Given that you’re already such a needy little cockslut.”

Drevis did his best to fight against the warring emotions of disgust and desire but in the end, lust won out. A deep moan escaped him, giving him away. A second finger worked its way in, Drevis feeling himself grind against the digits in spite of himself.

“So terribly desperate,” Ancano mocked. “Have you really no shame?”

Drevis could only whimper in response, his skin burning.

Ancano’s fingers withdrew, and in moments Drevis felt something much bigger press against his arsehole. He was every bit as impatient and rough with his arse as he had been with his mouth, and a cry ripped from Drevis’ throat as pain tore through him. This only seemed to spur the Thalmor on. He fucked Drevis deeper and harder, digging his fingers into his thighs, pushing him harder against the wall. Ancano’s mouth was on his, the kiss wet and violent, teeth sinking into the flesh of his lower lip, tongue seeking to conquer. With every thrust, Drevis could feel the velvet of Ancano’s flesh against his—the heat of his body, the way each muscle flexed as it drew taut. His wrists ached in their shackles, both to shove him away and to pull him closer, to punch his smug face in and to stroke his unbearably soft skin. He wrapped his legs tighter around Ancano, feeling the pain begin to give way to pleasure.

“Such a good, obedient little slut,” Ancano snarled, his hand curling around Drevis’ length.

Drevis wanted to argue, to bite, to spit in the bastard’s face, but he could only writhe in his grip and cry out as Ancano pumped into him, harder and deeper. Drevis’ stomach turned even as heat pooled and grew within him. Ancano continued to stroke in rhythm with his thrusts, his face curled into a sneer. Drevis felt the cold damp of the wall against his cheek as he turned, unable to meet Ancano’s gaze.

“Now now Neloren, don’t look away.” Lips ghosted the edge of Drevis’ ear, making him shiver. “It’s so much more fun when I can watch the fight leave you.”

Fingers gripped Drevis’ jaw as Ancano twisted his head back around. Dark gold eyes bored into his own.

“Look at you, so desperate to come.” Derision dripped from every word. “Aren’t you?”

Drevis bit hard on his lip, not wanting to admit it. Ancano’s fingers dug deeper into his jaw as the grip on his cock loosened. A whine escaped him, and he immediately hated himself for how small and pathetic it sounded.

“Let’s not play games. You want this. I’m happy to give it to you,” Ancano said, as if he were the most benevolent mer in the world. “All you need to do is ask.” He barely concealed his laughter on the last word. They both knew what he really meant.

_Beg._

Drevis felt the metal shackles dig into his wrists, and thought about how he must look right now—hair matted and body dripping with sweat, skin mottled with magicka burns and welts, a Thalmor agent inside him, commanding his every move. The image was so utterly repugnant, and yet…

Ancano’s thumb traced over the head of Drevis’ cock, making the images twist and blur. _I don’t want this. I_ shouldn’t _want this._ Curses in Dunmeris poured from Drevis’ lips as he attempted to fight against himself.

“Such a filthy mouth, Neloren,” Ancano chuckled darkly, continuing his attentions. “I’m sure you can ask nicer than that.”

Ancano’s voice sent jolts of sensation through his body, and Drevis was overcome, not sure which method of torture he hated more. He could feel the curvature of Ancano’s buttocks and back with his feet, and suddenly he was overwhelmed by the scent of him—spice and earth still lingering under the smell of sweat.

“Please,” said Drevis, quietly. When he felt Ancano’s hand slow, he knew it wasn’t enough.

“What was that?” The look on Ancano’s face was downright evil. Drevis knew he should be repulsed, but his body apparently didn’t agree.

“Please, _serjo_.” The words came out as reedy little things, giving away the depth of his desperation. He felt the shackles cut into his wrists as he ground against Ancano’s cock. “Please let me come.”

Lust burned in Ancano’s eyes. “As you wish, little slut.” He drove deeper into Drevis, his hand keeping pace. “ _Shauta_.”

Fire, heat, hate, everything that built inside erupted from within as Drevis came, spilling over his own chest and Ancano’s hand as he coaxed the want from him. He could feel the intense pulses of pleasure, the cries that tore from his throat, the shackles that cut into his wrists. His head sagged, vaguely aware of Ancano’s hand letting go of his cock and trailing upwards to the trail of cum that streaked his chest, scooping it up and pushing his slicked fingers into Drevis’ mouth.

Ancano’s thrusts became more urgent and frenzied as Drevis sucked on his fingers, the acrid taste of his semen lingering on his tongue. His other hand grasped Drevis’ hip, his perfectly manicured nails undoubtedly having broken skin. Ancano’s breaths quickened and stuttered, and in a few short movements, he came, roaring in choked Altmeris as he fucked Drevis with enough force to wind him.

For a brief moment, their sweat-soaked bodies pressed together, and Drevis wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed with disappointment or relief when Ancano pulled himself out. Drevis could feel the Thalmor agent’s cum trickle down his thighs as his shackles were freed, heat rapidly dwindling to biting cold.

Drevis rubbed at his tender wrists, struggling to find his feet. He’d never felt so small, so vulnerable. In the corner, Ancano ran his fingers through his hair, combing out the knots. He fastened the buckles on his cloak, polishing the brass details so they shone like new.

“Clean yourself up,” Ancano said coldly, tossing him a rag. “You look a mess.”

The alcove was cast in shadow as Ancano left, the clipped sound of his footsteps slowly fading to nothing. The only thing Drevis could hear was the slow dripping of water from some far-off part of the Midden, and the faint thud of his heartbeat in his ears. Both ricocheted around in the emptiness, and as Drevis pulled on his robes, he faintly wondered if Ancano had at least had the decency to leave him with the remainder of his sujamma.

Thankfully he had. Drevis uncorked a bottle and drank, the fragrant liquor washing the taste of himself from his mouth. He savoured the burn in his throat, hoping that if he drank enough, he might stop feeling the dull ache and the hollowness that overwhelmed him.

With a final flick of his bloodied wrists, he disappeared once more, wondering how long he could make the Illusion last as he left the Midden Dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Drevis I'm so sorry bb D:
> 
> Fic title means "to spill" in Dunmeris; chapter title means "seed".  
> Ancano's phrases are all Altmeris, and are as follows:
> 
>  _Graxifalas_ \- disgraceful  
>  _Adma'na_ \- poor listener  
>  _Alaxon_ \- perfection  
>  _Shauta_ \- come


	2. Faraayn

The frigid winds of Winterhold whipped at Drevis’ face as he emerged from the Midden, but he barely felt it. The sujamma had gone some way to dulling the ache and dread that still steeped his bones; sheer will to survive took care of the rest. Even through the sharp, frost-tinged air, Drevis could still smell the aftermath on himself. He reeked of sex and sweat and panic—every time the smell crept into his nostrils, his throat clenched a fresh surge of bile.

He moved with no thought. Money. Clean clothes. The knife nestled beneath his pillow. He crept into his room, throwing the items into his knapsack, praying no one would stir—they wouldn’t see him, but they’d undoubtedly see objects moving of their own accord. A burst of his magicka rendered his knapsack invisible, and he left the College undetected, barely registering his actions.

The winds that blew across the Sea of Ghosts were cruel and cold, cutting Drevis to the bone. He welcomed the distraction as he undressed, letting his robes and loincloth fall into a pile, then let flames consume him and flow from his hands as he burned the soiled fabric to ashes. He stepped into the freezing water, barely feeling the harsh bite of cold as it lapped at his feet. Gradually, it grew warmer, heated by the flames surrounding him. Salt stung every cut on his skin, and as he scrubbed at his wrists, he saw the faint tinge of crimson appear in the water, clouding it. He scrubbed harder, but when his skin was clean and he smelled of nothing but the ocean, the scent of sandalwood and dread still seemed to linger, clinging to his nostrils.

Drevis stepped out of the water. Streaks of sea salt appeared across his body as the flames dried his skin. He dressed in clean clothes and tried to focus on these mineral trails, rather than the ugly red welts of magicka burns or the fresh cuts lining his wrists. He pulled on a tunic, laced his breeches, and decided to keep walking until he found an inn, or his legs gave out—whichever came first.

Drevis trudged along until dawn broke, and he encountered a sign. He blinked to read it. _The Nightgate Inn._ He could see down the slope to the tree-lined lake it overlooked. On any other day, Drevis might’ve considered the scene idyllic. Today he was just tired.

The innkeeper didn’t do more than raise a brow at Drevis when he dropped his septims onto the counter and brusquely asked for a bath, some food, and a room for the night. He was shown to his lodgings, told a bowl of beef stew awaited him when he was ready, and advised that the tub in his room would be filled for him once he was done eating.

It was a far cry from the College’s marble tiles and ornate moonstone-and-gold fittings. Drevis didn’t care. He let himself sink into the tub, water just on the right side of too hot. Vapours of something vaguely earthy wafted up to meet him, and he felt a wash of memories—Nazir’s arms wrapped around his shoulders as Drevis leaned against his chest, water lapping over them. The tickle of Nazir’s beard against his cheek as he murmured in his ear what a good job he’d done, how proud he was, how he was going to take care of him…

Drevis felt as if his chest would crack in half. He’d had a home. Safety. Sanctuary. Now he didn’t know what he had.

That night, despite the bottles of wine he’d drunk alone and the barriers he’d built surrounding the door, he didn’t sleep easily. When slumber finally did claim him, images played over in his head—Ancano’s cock suffocating him, electricity wracking his body in agonising waves, a clipped, curt voice telling him to _beg for it, whore…_

An assault of disorienting images shifted and cut and blurred. Savos by his side, whispering in his ear. _You wanted this. Wanted to tell him. Told him everything._ His own blood, spilling out of his stomach like a waterfall, organs throbbing out of the deep gash. Nazir in front of him, eyes colder than steel. _I told you I’d rather kill than fuck, nilyn._ Nadine shackled to the wall, and himself in Ancano’s place, watching her cry and convulse and beg for him to stop as lightning magicka poured from his fingers.

He awoke in pitch blackness, drenched in sweat, the chain of his pendant choking him. He untangled it from his twisted shirt, feeling how the heat of his body had warmed the metal, and let it drop. The weight of it suddenly felt unbearable; a millstone around his neck. His stomach churned as he thought about the consequences of his actions—for the Sanctum, for the College, for his friends and loved ones.

He could send a letter. Or—would there be Thalmor agents out looking for couriers? What then? Drevis was caught. He thumbed his pendant idly, tracing each groove of the engraving. Every action he made seemed bound to doom someone.

As the sun rose, he decided he at least owed something to the people dearest to his heart. He wrapped it up, sealed with twine and wax, and sent it off with the local courier as he left Nightgate Inn behind.

 

* * *

 

Afternoons in Warmaiden’s were always slow. Adrianne got most of her work done in the morning, when Whiterun was still waking up and settling into its day, and often adventurers looking for new armour or weapons picked up their supplies well before lunchtime. She sat at the grindstone, sharpening a steel sword to a razor-sharp edge, when a courier approached and handed her an unlabelled package.

Adrianne turned the package over in her hands. “Do you know who this is from?”

“Wouldn’t say, miss.” The courier shrugged.

Her brow rose. She could feel a lump in the packet. Jewellery? Payment? “Well? What did they want me to do with this, then?”

The courier bit his lip, obviously considering whether to answer. “H—he told me not—”

“ _He._ That’s a good start. What else?”

“He, uh—he just told me to send it to you.”

Adrianne sighed. It was like trying to draw blood out of a stone. “Surely you have a name? Or a location?”

The courier’s eyes darted nervously between the package and Adrianne’s stern face before relenting. “A Dunmer, out by Nightgate Inn. He left as he handed me the package. He didn’t give me a name, but he had short hair, and a beard, and, uh—”

Patience depleted, Adrianne thrust a few septims into the courier’s hand and hung the sword on the rack behind her, retreating into her shop to open the package. Perhaps there was a note inside.

“Afternoon, Warmaiden,” Ulfberth smiled, stacking iron bars on the display. “What brings you inside?”

“Package arrived,” said Adrianne, pulling her dagger from its sheath. “Unlabelled. From a Dunmer, apparently. Divines help me, the couriers in this country are worse than useless.”

Adrianne cut the twine that bound the parcel and tore open the paper, revealing its contents—a thin, silver chain, slightly tarnished and worn where the chain met the clasp. Looped through the chain, a weighty silver pendant, the curving triskelion emblem of the Sanctum carved in the cool metal.

"Ulfberth," she said quietly. "Come here."

The echo of clanging iron carried through the empty shop as Ulfberth dropped what he was doing and joined her. She looked at him, watching the colour pale from his face, confirming her own fears.

“Something’s wrong with Drevis.”

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the Sanctum that Fredas was starkly different to any other week.

“Has anyone heard from him?” asked Adrianne.

“Not a peep, lass,” Brynjolf sighed, his own face fraught with worry.

“I was up at the College, a few days ago,” Nadine added, her voice shaking. “I asked around but everyone said they hadn’t seen him in over a week.”

Adrianne’s heart dropped. He’d been absent last Fredas, but occasionally that happened—something would come up at the College requiring his attention. Usually he would arrive the following week, profusely apologising for his absence, to which Adrianne and Ulfberth would just laugh and say they’d thought he was there and invisible and peeping in the corner the entire time.

Astrid chimed in. “If I may… the Brotherhood have a contact who may be able to help out with this sort of thing.” She held up a sapphire, its edges glinting in the light. “Olava the Feeble - I believe you may have met her? Offers tea-leaf and palm-readings, things of that nature.” Astrid rolled the gem beneath thumb and forefinger. “Anyway, she owes us a favour. Maybe we could call on her skills of clairvoyance to help bring our poor lost family member back home?”

Adrianne regarded the Sanctum members with a stern look. "If he chose to return the pendant on his own, we will, of course, respect that,” she stressed, turning back to Astrid. “And if he wants to return, we'll welcome him... But the circumstances I received this under make me worry. I just want to make certain that he is safe."

Astrid nodded. “Shall we pay the dear old lady a visit, then?”

 

* * *

 

Adrianne had always found Olava to be an unpredictable woman - honey-sweet and pleasant one moment, sharp and sour as vinegar the next. She’d always shrugged it off, supposing it came with being old and lonely and not entirely sure if she craved company or abhorred it, but upon spending time with her, she saw there was more to her mood swings. Tiredness seemed to envelop the old woman like a thick fog as she sat at the table, clutching Drevis’ pendant in her wizened hand, rheumy eyes gazing into the distance.

“Your friend… he is in a bad way. Has suffered atrocities.” Olava ran the chain pensively through her fingers. “I see somewhere dark, underground. A cave, or perhaps a dungeon.” Her eyes widened, face contorting into an expression of horror. “Has spoken words… words with grave consequences for us all…”

Adrianne swallowed. “Is he alive? Is he safe?”

“He is free, but he is not well. He is somewhere, hidden yet in sight, amongst those he might call his kin.” Olava struggled to keep her head upright, her hands worrying at the metal of the pendant. “Somewhere… a city… near water.” Olava sighed. “That’s… all the visions would tell me.”

Olava’s skin sagged over her face like a mask, outlining her skeletal features. Her eyes were dark and clouded, and every line of her face seemed etched in. Never had Adrianne seen anyone look so frail and tired. Still, Olava returned the token, insisting the Brotherhood might need it again one day, and baulked at Astrid’s offer of payment, saying if she wanted coin she’d set up a tent in the marketplace and read palms for a living. When Adrianne suggested she visit Warmaiden’s after hours for a hot meal and some company, she scoffed and scowled, but didn’t resist when she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and put a mug of warm mead into her hand.

The atmosphere in the Sanctum remained sombre. Brynjolf and Vex pored over a map, marking potential areas they thought he might frequent. Ulfberth and Aela gathered travel supplies, stacking them neatly by the door. Each person turned to face Adrianne as she entered, hope writ large across their faces.

“He’s alive and out there somewhere,” Adrianne said at once. “But he’s in trouble. Olava couldn’t give specifics.”

Adrianne recounted Olava’s words to the others, watching their expressions shift from confusion to worry. Nadine’s quill scribbled across parchment. Everyone murmured quietly, trying to decipher the riddle, when Nadine’s voice cut through.

“Windhelm.” Nadine said, positively. “Possibly Solstheim, but that’d be via Windhelm.”

“How do you know?” asked Adrianne.

“We know he’s not in Riften, Solitude, Falkreath or Whiterun, because none of us have seen him.” She walked over to the map, squeezing in next to Vex. “He’s probably not in Markarth, because the only large body of water near there is the Karth River,” Nadine said, gesturing to the lines in the map. “And if he’s amongst his own kin, it’d make sense for him to be amongst Dunmer. So Windhelm would make sense, maybe the Grey Quarter.”

“Good,” Adrianne said. “Suppose we should get moving, then.”

 

* * *

 

The journey to Windhelm had been an uneasy one. Astrid and Nazir sat in the back with the supplies, keeping watch for anything that might slow them down, and Adrianne rode up front with Bjorlam, who valiantly tried to keep conversation going despite the very palpable tension that permeated the entire journey. By the time they arrived, dusk had descended, leaving the city under the light of torches and braziers and the twin moons. Adrianne hadn’t been to the city in years, but nothing much had changed—it still loomed large, crude and square and grey, its presence less welcoming than imposing. Guards clad in blue had eyed them suspiciously when they entered the city. Nazir had glared, daring them to react.

The captain of the ship headed to Solstheim had scoffed when they'd asked if he'd seen anyone matching Drevis' description. "Matches about half my clients, love," he'd shrugged, hastily running rope through his calloused hands. "Gonna have to be more specific." It had taken a lengthy description of Drevis' appearance, accent, and cultural background before the mer in charge conceded that nobody of that description had taken passage on his vessel. "Try the Cornerclub."

The scent of dried fish and stale tobacco met Adrianne as she entered the New Gnisis Cornerclub. The air was thick with smoke, and it was so stiflingly warm that even after she'd removed her coat she felt strangled by the heat. Every last inch of the drinking hole was crammed with bodies; tables surrounded by Dunmer and Argonians alike playing dice and drinking mazte, patrons propped up at the bar waxing political about the Civil War and Ulfric's neglect of the Grey Quarter.

Adrianne's eyes scanned the Cornerclub for Drevis, and she almost didn't spot him, tucked away in a corner next to an emaciated Nord and a shivering Argonian. His hair clung to his head, lank and greasy, and weeks-old stubble dappled his face. Deep circles ran around his eyes, the red of which seemed too dim in the light. An earthen mug sat in his grip, and it was clear that he had been at this for quite some time, from the way his clothes were stained with sweat and his fingers clasped to the cup like a lifeline.

"Hello, old friend," said Adrianne, feeling like an arrow was piercing her heart. "Thought you might like some company."

Drevis looked at her, but his eyes were glossy, unfocused. "Got company." Drevis smirked without humour, gesturing idly toward the others at his table. Liquid spilled from his cup as he gesticulated. "Got sujamma."

The stench of stale sweat and alcohol radiated from him. Adrianne tried her hardest to keep composure. “We… just want to talk, Drevis.” She tried to look into his eyes, but it was if he was looking through her, as if she didn’t exist. “Please.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Adrianne could see Astrid pull her blade and motion to the others at the table—leave, or suffer the consequences. Taking the hint, they made their excuses and departed, Astrid taking the Argonian’s seat as Adrianne settled in the Nord’s, leaning in to the cloud of sujamma vapour that surrounded Drevis.

“We’ve set up a safe place for you,” Adrianne said, moving to reach out for Drevis’ hand before stopping herself. “To talk, if you want to. We… we know you’re not okay, but we don’t know what’s happened. Maybe if we do, we can help.”

Astrid stroked along the grooves of the worn wooden table. “Whatever’s happened, you have our protection.” She placed her dagger down between them, blade pointed outward, eyes never leaving Drevis. “Never doubt that.”

Adrianne nodded. “Let us help you.”

Slowly, Drevis’ eyes focused on Astrid’s blade, its edge glinting in the dingy light of the Cornerclub. He took a long swig of his sujamma, draining the vessel, then slowly and unsteadily rose to his feet.

He sighed. “Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

Adrianne had first met Drevis four years ago, after being introduced to him by Astrid and Nazir. He’d been a friend of Gabrielle’s, they’d said, and it soon became apparent that he shared their sexual proclivities. They’d all stayed up late, discussing everything from the mundane to the explicit over bottles of Alto Wine, and when Drevis had turned up at her and Ulfberth’s door with a large, Daedric-looking tome and the vague idea to start an underground sex dungeon, they’d giggled and raised their brows at the idea until they didn’t.

They’d been through a lot in that relatively short space of time—tears, breakdowns, limits pushed and safewords uttered, some of which she was responsible for. Never had she seen him like this—slumped on the floor of Hjerim, small and frail and helpless. Countless furs were wrapped around him as Nazir spoon-fed him potato soup. His eyes were still swollen from the tears he’d spilled, his body still shaking with sorrow and fear and adrenaline.

Drevis had talked tentatively at first, every word slowly drawn out, his shoulders sagging with the effort. Ancano. The Thalmor from the College. It didn’t take long before the dam broke, words tumbling in a deluge from Drevis’ lips as he recounted the trauma he’d been through at the hands of the Thalmor. Sobs racked his body as he admitted how he’d given away information he swore he’d take to his grave; how he’d begged Ancano to continue even as he was being violated. How some small, strange part of him had enjoyed it—the degradation, the pain, the abuse. He talked and cried until his voice gave out, and he sank into Nazir’s arms, Adrianne holding his shaking hands.

“Please come home with us,” Adrianne said, quietly. “You can stay with Ulfberth and I for as long as you like.”

Nazir cradled Drevis’ head in the crook of his arm. Adrianne could see the tension in his body, the anger in his face. He’d visibly flinched when Drevis had told them what had happened, and Adrianne knew that some small part of him was likely blaming his own actions for what had transpired.

Eventually Drevis nodded, conceding he did need somewhere to stay that wasn’t the floor of a Cornerclub, and let himself be lifted to his feet and led to the door. As Adrianne gathered up the supplies, promising she’d meet them at the carriage shortly, she noticed Astrid and Nazir looking at each other, as if wordlessly plotting. She pulled Astrid into the other room, out of Drevis’ earshot.

“I know that look. What have you got planned?”

“Oh, it’s simple,” Astrid smiled. Up until now her face had been a mask of indifference, her expression unreadable. Now it was something different entirely—steely and sinister and completely chilling. Her hand reached for her dagger, drawing the blade out of its sheath, her grin widening as she gazed along the edge. “We’re going to kill Ancano.”

“Not without asking Drevis first, you’re not,” Adrianne said, raising her brow.

Adrianne saw the flicker of fury briefly flash in Astrid’s eyes. She might’ve been scared, had she not known the woman for years. “I’m trying to prevent further harm, Adrianne,” Astrid said, her voice edged. “Olava’s words hinted at larger consequences, so I’m merely doing what’s best for everyone.” Astrid tilted her head, as if willing Adrianne to understand. “Including my friend, who needs our protection right now.”

“Awfully bold of you to assume you know what’s best for everyone involved,” Adrianne said, holding her ground. “Bottom line is, your _friend_ has gone through something terrible. You're using this suggestion of far-reaching consequences as an excuse to take revenge that is not yours. Don't insult Drevis by treating him like some helpless damsel.”

A small huff escaped Astrid, her eyes narrowing. For a moment, Adrianne worried she’d gone too far. “I hate it when you’re right,” Astrid muttered, the anger on her face lifting a little. “Let’s go find the others.”

Nazir and Drevis were waiting at the carriage, Drevis still bundled up under their entire stock of furs. The carriage driver was absent, and Nazir explained that he’d tired of waiting outside in the cold and that they were to knock on the doors of the stable when they were ready. He snarled a few words in Dunmeris—none of which Adrianne assumed were favourable—to which Drevis just snorted, shivering. He seemed to be perking up, at least a little. That was a good sign.

Astrid climbed into the carriage, next to Drevis. “When I said you had my protection, I meant it.” She pulled the dagger from her hip, grasping the blade, offering it handle first. “May I?” He nodded, and she held his hand in hers, wrapping it around the hilt. “Nazir and I proposed that we take out the monster that did this to you. We’d consider it a personal contract of the Brotherhood. But we don’t want to do it without your express permission.” Astrid’s thumb ran across Drevis’ hand. “It was you he hurt, and we feel it’s only fair that his fate lies in your hands. Whatever your decision, we respect it. But either way, I want you to keep the blade. For your own protection.”

Adrianne watched as Drevis pondered, and then saw it—a glint of something red and lively in his tired eyes. He handed the blade back to Astrid, running his thumb lightly along the blade.

“Keep the knife,” he said, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth. “You’ll need it to gut Ancano.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: rape aftermath, alcohol abuse and graphic depictions of violence. Chapter title is "secrets" in Dunmeris.


	3. Molkhun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much again to [spiney](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiney) and [Syllis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syllis) for beta reading—this wouldn't be anywhere near the quality it is without you both. <3
> 
> Please, for the love of gods, check the end notes for content/trigger warnings because this is a gnarly one. Don't say I didn't warn you.
> 
> Enjoy. c:<

Rays of morning sun shone in through the windows, shaking Drevis from his slumber. His head pounded, mouth dry. With reluctance, he dragged himself out of bed, choking down a long drink from his waterskin, wincing as his throat seized with the movement.

Still, it was getting better. He wasn’t on a floor of a draughty Cornerclub, wasn’t in a city that hated his guts. He was among friends.

Friends he’d tried to run from. Friends he’d attempted to abandon for their own good.

Then again, he’d forgotten his friends were assassins.

“Morning, Drevis,” Nadine chirped from across her cup of tea. Far too chipper for this time in the morning. “Have a good rest?” She bit into her toast and snowberry jam, smiling. “S’breakfast here if you’re hungry.” Crumbs spilled from her mouth as she relayed the information.

Drevis looked over the table, trying to discern whether his stomach would rebel. “I’ll take a tea,” he allowed, still parched. “Might try something a bit more substantial later.”

Nadine poured the amber liquid into the earthenware mug, swirling a generous dollop of honey in to join it. She set the cup in front of him, stroking the furs that wrapped around him like a cocoon. He winced at the unexpected touch, feeling his stomach lurch. Nadine flinched back, as if she had touched freshly forged steel, her face etched with regret. Drevis’ chest ached.

“Oh Drevis, I’m so sorry,” she said, quietly. “I—I didn’t think—”

“It’s okay.” Drevis tried to keep his voice even. Fire burned in his bones, but it wasn’t towards Nadine, and he didn’t want her to think as such. He reached out tentatively for her hand as the other one gripped his cup, the ceramic almost scalding his fingers.

Nadine took his hand in hers. Her nose scrunched and her lips tightened. “I’m so—”

Drevis could sense Nadine grasping. He had done the same thing, on many occasions, and was only too aware of how utterly trite and ineffectual the words all felt spilling from his mouth. _I’m so sorry this happened to you. If I could turn back time and…_ It hurt all the more hearing them and realising just how little power those words had; how little power _he_ had.

“— _angry_ that the bastard did that to you, Drevis.”

Anger was different. Anger, he could use. He was sick to the back teeth of pity, though he knew deep down he dearly needed it, but rage—searing, ugly fury—he could channel into something productive.

Drevis looked at Nadine. He’d never seen her look so intense. Her hand gripped his, eyes burning with ire.

“I’ll take some toast now,” said Drevis, sipping his tea, squeezing her hand. “Maybe some eggs if there’s any. We can talk revenge.”

 

* * *

 

_Moonlight poured in through the window, illuminating the small vestibule tucked away from the rest of the College. Nelacar closed the door behind him, eyes darting fervently around the small room as the Redguard sitting at the table eyed him with vague amusement._

_“Thank you for coming so quickly.” Nelacar placed a coin purse onto the table in front of the Redguard, staring intently at the floor. “His name is Malyn Varen.”_

_A sinister smile lined The Redguard’s face. “Any other requests?”_

_“Just make it quick,” Nelacar said. “Thank you for your discretion.”_

_With that, Nelacar left, leaving the Redguard to pick up the coin purse. He weighed it in his hand, the gold ring knotting his beard glinting in the dim candlelight._

_“Interesting conversation,” Drevis said, stepping out from the corner and reappearing with a flick of his wrist. He grinned as the assassin jumped up from his seat in shock. “Amazing the things you overhear when nobody can see you.”_

_Fear turned to fury as the Redguard spotted Drevis. He sprung forward, gripping him by the collar of his robes, pressing him against the wall. With his other hand, he pulled his dagger from its sheath, and Drevis felt the cool press of metal against his throat._

_“And just why the fuck should I let you leave here alive?”_

_Drevis stared into the man’s eyes—dark and dangerous, just like him. He licked his lips. “I don’t know. Why should you?”_

_A huff left the Redguard, its heat blooming across Drevis’ skin. “You know I could slit your throat right now, don’t you?”_

_He did. The thought should have chilled him to the bone. Instead, adrenaline coursed through his veins, raw and urgent. He’d never been so hard in his life._

_The Redguard moved in closer, holding the knife where it was, their bodies pressed together. “Somehow I get the impression your intention wasn’t to rat your colleague out.” He smiled, a knowing little look that made Drevis shiver. “What were you doing, then?”_

_Heat blazed across Drevis’ skin. “I—I was—” He could barely get the words out. “I like to watch people.”_

_The Redguard smirked. “Of course you do.” His hand left Drevis’ collar, snaking its way upwards. It traced his jaw, finally settling on his ear, pinching and twisting the tip. Drevis let out a sharp yelp of pain._

_“Naughty, naughty,” the Redguard murmured. “You’d better be careful or someone will have a contract out on you next.”_

_Drevis reached for the Redguard’s waistband, seeking to pull him closer, before being stopped, his arms pinned together. Azura, but the man was strong._

_“You want me that badly, hmm?” Every time the Redguard smiled it was like a wolf sizing up a lamb. “Come find me.”_

_And with that he was gone, leaving Drevis aching and breathless and massaging his knife-bereft neck._

 

* * *

 

Drevis felt his vigour return to him, slowly but surely, over the following week. Every little effort had helped—leisurely breakfast-turned-lunches with Nadine, trips into Whiterun with Ysolda, impromptu hunting sessions with Aela. By the time Astrid and Nazir arrived at week’s end, he was hungry for both revenge and the venison stew he’d helped prepare, and despite his still-recovering appetite, he helped himself to a sizeable chunk of bread to go with his meal. After subsiding on little more than sujamma for weeks, it was good to eat food again, and he wolfed his dinner down faster than was advisable.

“Excellent as always, Adrianne,” Nazir said, smiling. “Well worth the trip from Falkreath. Although, not the only reason.” He turned to Drevis. “Let’s talk business, hmm?”

The man always cut to the quick. It was one of his better qualities.

“Ancano.” It was the first time Drevis had said his name out loud since Windhelm, and he hated how the presence of it still made his skin crawl; how he still felt like he could taste him after speaking his name.

“We’ve been doing some research. He’s Thalmor, but he’s not particularly high in rank—not even a Justiciar.” Nazir let out a contemptuous snort. “Of course, they all think they’re hot shit anyway. Even the pathetic one we kidnapped for questioning. Doubt he was even out of his training robes.”

Drevis felt a small twinge of remorse, until his chest tightened against the flashes of electricity on his naked flesh, the burn in his throat as he called Ancano ‘superior.’ Right or wrong, he couldn’t separate this anonymous agent from his torturer, couldn’t imagine any Thalmor acting any differently.

“Anyway, he gave us some useful information—after we gently persuaded him. He works alongside an agent called Estormo, who just so happens to be stationed in Labyrinthian.”

Drevis’ breath caught in his throat.

“Don’t worry,” Nazir said, “we’ve taken care of it. Estormo is dead, just as Ancano will be.”

Astrid nodded. “Whatever Ancano’s got planned, he doesn’t have all the pieces yet. Estormo was still searching for something when we got there. The only thing we found on his body was a letter from Ancano, ordering him to wait for further instructions.”

“We’re leaving for Winterhold tonight,” Nazir said. “Any good access points to the College? We’ve got some invisibility potions from Ingun, but we might need them in an emergency, and they won’t work on the manacles.”

“You can get in underneath, through the Midden Dark,” Drevis said. “The entrance is near the Sea of Ghosts, and brings you right into the Hall of Countenance.” He gestured to Astrid for her quill, inkwell and parchment, scribbling the directions. “This should help, hopefully.”

“Excellent. Any requests?”

Drevis couldn’t help but let out a scoff at the way Nazir said it so casually, as if he were strolling down to the market stall to buy cheese.

“Nadine suggested lacing your blades with atronach salts. Ysolda reckoned skeevers.” Drevis shrugged. “You’re the experts. As long as you make it slow and excruciating, I’ll be satisfied.”

“Anything else?”

“There is one thing,” Drevis said, scratching his chin. “Something I don’t want.”

Astrid cocked her head. “Yes?”

“Don’t burn his corpse. Let him rot, send him to sea, feed him to rabid dogs. Whatever. Just not fire.” Drevis’ eyes narrowed. “He doesn’t deserve to be turned to ashes.”

 

* * *

 

Nazir and Astrid arrived at Winterhold the following night, deciphering Drevis’ scrawlings and traversing the ragged cliffside of the Sea of Ghosts. A few dead skeletons later and they were in the College, standing over Ancano with manacles and a vial of paralysis poison. Astrid's hand was clamped across Ancano's mouth when he woke up, trapping him, working the elixir down his throat. Nazir held down his ankles as he thrashed against the potion, but soon their captive was rigid and unprotesting, his twisting expression of outrage frozen in place. Astrid slipped a hood over his head as Nazir fastened the shackles, hearing the satisfying click as they locked in place. Together, they arranged the Thalmor's unyielding form between them, grunting as they wrapped it tightly in a woven rug and made their way back into the night.

In the carriage, Nazir pulled the whetstone out of his pocket and unsheathed his dagger, listening to the soothing, repetitive scrape of metal against stone as he honed his blade to a deadly-sharp edge.

Boarding their horse and carriage with the stablemaster, they unpacked, dragging Ancano’s body out of the back. It was becoming less stiff, more malleable. The paralysis poison was wearing off. They wouldn’t have much time.

Of all the things the Windhelm gate guard had expected to see that night, Nazir ventured that an unconscious Thalmor wrapped in a rug wasn’t one of them. The Nord blanched, stuttering. “W—what are you planning on doing with that?”

"The plan is to kill him. As slowly as possible, preferably.” Astrid smiled. “Is that going to be a problem?”

The Nord swallowed, practically shaking in his boots. “N—no, miss,” he said. “But I’ve got to go get my captain.” Nazir choked back a laugh as the Nord practically ran to his commanding officer.

The watch-captain, evidently a forty-year veteran of Ulfric's former Legion, demanded even less of their time. "Keep your money," he said. "In fact—you people do this kind of thing, right?" He handed Astrid a sack of coins. "Get a few more of the bastards for us while you’re at it, would you?"

Astrid agreed, winking at the captain and handing him a crate of Nord Mead for his trouble. “Don’t forget to share with the others,” Astrid smiled, winking. “Of course, we won’t tell if you won’t.”

The city walls towered over them as they wound through the narrow streets to Hjerim. Apparently, before it had been a safehouse for Drevis, it had been a murderer’s hideout—somewhere victims had been dragged and dismembered, a killing floor for a Butcher. Nazir chuckled. _Nadine had a strange concept of the idea of a safe space._ Still, other than the closet in the corner, it had been in surprisingly decent condition, and Nazir had cleaned it up as best he could for Drevis’ arrival, hoping that the news of its other use hadn’t made its way down to the Grey Quarter.

Well, he’d cleaned up the main rooms, at least. He’d left the closet as it was. He liked the ambiance. Gave him ideas.

Throwing the Thalmor on the ground, Nazir pulled the hood off his head, snarling at the mer who glared back at him. A flash of fear formed in Ancano’s eyes, before quickly dissipating to something simmering and foul and acidic. Good. Nazir liked a challenge. Always made it that much sweeter when the panic did manifest. Usually about the same time the blood started to gush.

“Who in Oblivion are you?” Ancano spat. “I hope you don’t think you’re ever leaving here alive.”

“Funny,” Nazir said, as if he was terribly bored. “Was about to say the same thing to you.” He turned aside, looking for his bundle of tools.

“Are you serious?” demanded Ancano, incredulous. “You have no idea the kind of enemy you have made. I’m one of the most powerful mages that has ever lived.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are, agent Ancano,” Nazir said, passing his kit to Astrid. “Couldn’t even make Justiciar?” He grinned. “Humiliating.” He could see the cracks start to show, the anger begin to bubble its way to the surface.

Ancano’s eyes narrowed. “You’re even more stupid than I thought if you’re honestly thinking of taking out an important Thalmor agent.”

“This one thinks highly of himself, doesn’t he?” Astrid said, her voice laced with contempt. “I’d be amazed if anyone noticed he was gone.”

“You know nothing of our organisation. As soon as they discover I’m missing they’ll hunt you like the dogs you are.” Ancano’s voice rose. “You do not want to make an enemy of the Thalmor.”

“Oh, but this isn’t anything to do with the Thalmor,” Nazir growled, leaning in. “Let’s call this a… personal matter.”

Realisation dawned over Ancano. “What a surprise,” he snarled. “The Dunmer is an assassin’s whore too—”

Nazir's fist came down with a loud crunch and the cartilage of Ancano's face collapsed. Blood spurted, violent and vivid. Nazir examined his fist. Scarlet, showing up bright even against the darkness of his skin.

“He loved it, you know,” Ancano said, manic and cruel. “Begged for it. Whimpered and whined like the desperate little slut he is.” He leaned forward. “I should’ve kept him chained up so I could fuck him whenever I pleased. You trained him well, I’ll give you that.”

Nazir turned to Astrid, who had finished laying the tools on the plinth. He examined them with detached curiosity, debating which to use first.

“That little half-breed mage, too. Nadine, was it? I’m assuming she’s a part of your little collective.” Nazir could hear the sneer in Ancano’s voice. “I’m sure she would be quite eager to choke on my cock, too. It’s all you inferior races are good for, really.”

Nazir picked up the pliers, feeling the weight in his hand as he looked them over. He turned around.

“In fact, I don’t think I’ll rest until I have every single one of you chained and on your knees, licking the filth from my boots like the animals you are.” Ancano licked his lips, blood vivid against the white of his teeth. Too many teeth. “Maybe I should fuck you like the animals you are, too. Show you what the superior race can do—”

“You like the sound of your own voice too much,” Nazir said, brusquely pushing Ancano’s chin upward, fingers digging into the smooth flesh. “It bores me.”

A slew of blood, mucus and saliva hit Nazir in the face as Ancano spat at him. Nazir smiled, wiping the scarlet ooze from his cheek with cold amusement.

“You think I’m scared of your pathetic little operation?” Ancano’s voice rose. “The Thalmor could make your organisation defunct in a week.” He glared at Nazir. “I could reduce you to ash with a flick of my wrist.”

“Go on then,” Nazir said, calmly. “Do it.”

Chains clinked. Ancano’s shoulders shrugged. Confusion shifted to panic as his hands remained empty.

“Impressive,” Nazir said, mouth curling. “Astrid, please send my loved ones the tragic news.”

Ancano’s face twisted with rage. “Anti-magicka shackles?” His voice was shrill, his tone furious. “You really are pathetic. No honour whatsoever.”

“Oh, now you just sound like a Nord,” Nazir tutted. “How unbecoming of a Thalmor agent.”

Astrid stepped forward, sack in hand. “Terribly unbecoming. I wonder what your good friend Estormo would have to say about that?”

Ancano said nothing. He just glared at them, gold eyes incandescent with rage.

“Why don’t you ask him?” Astrid said. “You know, while you still can.”

Astrid opened the sack, letting Estormo’s severed head fall to the ground in front of his fellow officer. His once-gold skin now took on a green tinge, eyes bulging out of their sockets. The stench of decay permeated the space, putrefaction dripping from the wound where his neck ended. Maggots writhed and crawled in each crevice of the rotting flesh, feasting on the remains of the mer.

Ancano’s body shook—whether in fear or rage, Nazir wasn’t sure. “Filthy fucking savages,” He ranted, spittle flying from his mouth. “I’ll watch you burn. Watch you all unmade. The Eye in my power will bring all of you to your inevitable end.” Ancano’s rage picked up traction as his eyes turned crazed and his sentences grew less comprehensible. He was screaming now, face flushed with effort. “You fools have no idea the havoc you’ve wreaked—”

He thrashed as Nazir prised his mouth open, grasping his tongue between his pliers and yanking it out of his mouth, dagger in hand. The screams started to come then; pleading, desperate things, urging him to stop, gradually rising to guttural wails as Nazir’s knife sliced through the soft, wet flesh of his tongue. Sanguine spurts erupted from his mouth, staining Ancano’s white-blonde hair, reducing his screams to choked gurgles as he suffocated on his own blood.

“Maybe you should’ve been born Argonian, so you could breathe through this,” Nazir panted, gripping Ancano’s hair and forcing him forward. Ancano thrashed and spasmed as blood and bile poured from his mouth, violent bubbling noises following as his involuntary movements made him gasp and swallow.

Astrid stepped forward, gripping Nazir’s shoulder. “Don’t want him to bleed out, do we?” Her mouth curved into a sardonic half-smile. “Not while we’re still having so much fun.” Golden light flowed from her gloved fingers, stemming the flow of scarlet from Ancano’s mouth. Nazir still gripped Ancano’s tongue in his pliers, but the stump in his mouth had healed over to a clean scar, the remaining blood drying and clotting.

Astrid pulled him upright, pouring water over his face and forcing him to drink and spit, refusing to stop until the water ran clear and Ancano collapsed in a heap on the floor. Nazir could see him panting for breath, curling in a ball in the middle of the cramped room, any previous fight gone.

“How are you feeling?” Astrid asked, leaning over him, hand resting on Ancano’s cheek. It almost seemed caring. Ancano glared daggers at her in response.

“What’s wrong? Khajiit got your tongue?” Astrid retrieved her own dagger, slicing through Ancano’s robes, ripping them open. Sweat glistened across his skin, mottled with dried blood. Astrid reached into her pocket, retrieving a small pouch and sprinkling its contents onto the blade. Silver-grey glinted in the light and the air crackled with static, small sparks dancing from the edge of the knife.

With one firm thrust, she planted the blade straight into his lower abdomen. Ancano screamed; wordless, garbled noises as Astrid twisted her knife further into his flesh, energy sizzling across the surface of Ancano’s skin where the void salts singed him.

“Ah yes, I hear shock magicka is rather nasty,” Astrid said, her blade tearing lengthways through Ancano’s stomach. “I wonder what’s worse—lightning or knives? Perhaps you can elucidate.” She wiggled the dagger, driving the salts into every crevice. She laughed. “Or maybe you can’t.” Ancano howled; skin paling, body dripping with sweat.

Astrid pulled out the knife, smearing the bloodstained blade on Ancano’s robes. Blood throbbed from the deep gash, gushing out as Astrid reached into the cavity and pulled out viscera with painstaking slowness. Dagger in one hand, Ancano’s guts in another, she carved and yanked and dug at him until his voice gave out from screaming.

“This might take a while,” Astrid said, laconically. Her eyes never left Ancano’s as she pulled out his intestines like a magician pulling out handkerchiefs. “Nazir, could you grab me the saw?”

 

* * *

 

_When Nazir left the Sanctuary, the Dunmer was there waiting for him, dangling from a fir like he was damn well considering setting up shop._

_“Evening, Nazir,” he called, jumping from the trunk, catlike. “Found you.”_

_Nazir considered asking how, but he hardly supposed it mattered. Well, it did—whoever had given that information wouldn’t be alive much longer—but the more pressing matter was what to do with the mer in front of him. Eyes bright as fresh blood pierced into him, daring him to act. It made blood pound in his veins, made every inch of his being itch with raw, ugly want._

_He strode across to the Dunmer, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him against the trunk of the tree. “Listen here, elf.” He could see that tiny flash of fear in his eyes, same as before, quickly eclipsed by desire. “You only found me because I let you find me.” That was a bare-faced lie._

_The Dunmer’s brow raised. “What’s my name?”_

_Nazir felt his lip curl. Arrogant little shit. He fisted his silver hair, and his mouth was on the elf’s, feeling the curve of his smirk underneath. Nazir’s teeth sunk into the Dunmer’s bottom lip, just hard enough to draw blood, sucking softly as he whimpered into their kiss. The Dunmer grasped at his waist, and this time, he let him, long fingers ghosting along the top of his breeches._

_“Impatient,” Nazir murmured, breaking away from their kiss. He leaned in, lips brushing against the sensitive tips of the Dunmer’s ears. “Your name.” It wasn’t a question._

_The Dunmer’s breaths were coming out heavy now, chest rising against Nazir’s palm. “D—Drevis Neloren, serjo.”_

_Fuck. That one little word made Nazir want to take Drevis apart, piece by maddening piece. His mouth sought out Drevis’ neck, teeth sinking into warm grey flesh. His hand ventured downward, palming Drevis’ cock over his robes as his other hand gently tugged at his ear._

_“Why did you come here?” Nazir’s hands continued stroking, tugging, teasing._

_Drevis whimpered under his attentions. “I—fuck, I—”_

_“Quickly now, Neloren,” Nazir said, lips against Drevis’ throat, yanking his ear harder. “Answer me.”_

_Nazir could see Drevis begin to lose composure, and wondered how long he could hold his own. Drevis tried to form words, but all that left his mouth were incomprehensible gasps, his head lolling back against the trunk as he panted and moaned._

_“You can’t, can you?” Nazir could hear his own tone growing urgent. “Because you’re desperate. Just as desperate as you were the day we met, with my knife pressed against your neck and your cock pressed against my leg—”_

_A keening moan escaped Drevis as he came, his release soaking through his robes, warm and wet against Nazir’s hand. Nazir’s stroking slowed, sharp tugs softening to gentle caresses as he held Drevis tight, the two holding each other against the fir under the moonlight of Falkreath until they both caught their breath._

 

* * *

 

The mer put up a fight. They’d tried to wait for Ancano to bleed out, but he was tenacious;  bored, Astrid and Nazir had resorted to dismembering him while he was still alive. The exact moment when the life fully left him was hard to identify, but after about an hour Nazir noticed a distinct lack of writhing.

“Stubborn Thalmor bastards,” Astrid grumbled, attempting to wipe her brow on her shoulder. “Won’t give us information, won’t die—”

“Won’t hack into nice, clean pieces,” Nazir grunted out, breaths shallow. He swung the axe into the meat of his thigh, letting out a hiss of triumph as he heard the thudding crack of bone shattering. He wrenched Ancano’s leg, methodically cleaving at the seams as if dissembling a chicken. After dissecting the limbs he took care of the head, cleaving it clean from neck in one swing before moving to the torso.

It was sweaty, dirty, thoroughly unpleasant work, especially in the shoebox the previous Butcher had set up. The scene reeked of death—blood, bile, shit and decay seeping into every available surface. Even through their cowls doused in peppermint oil, the odour permeated, making Nazir gag despite his years of experience. But it had to be done.

Hours later, they were finished, what had been Ancano now in 36 very distinct pieces from head to limbs to guts. They wrapped the parcels as best they could, throwing them in a cart. Downing an Invisibility potion each, they ran off to the sluices underneath the Palace of the Kings and stood beneath the overflow until the water ran clear. They returned along the same path later, dressed in rags and aprons, pushing the wooden cart to the enforced iron-and-wood door that dominated the tunnel underneath the Palace.

A Nord answered, face as red as his hair, his one working eye sizing them up.

“S’all this, then?” The sound of wolves howling and snarling could be heard behind him. “Better not be any more of the Shatter-Shield clan.”

“Thalmor agent, actually,” Astrid said. “And the head of his friend.”

The man glared. “You want me to feed one of those Thalmor bastards to _my_ pit wolves? No. End of story. Go sell that mess to the pig farm."

"Too long a walk," scowled Nazir. “Feed them to the other team’s pit wolves if you’re so bothered.” He was growing impatient.

Astrid reached out, stroking the Nord’s chest. “Don’t you think there’s a… poetic justice to a Thalmor agent getting slaughtered and shit out by wolves in the great Ulfric Stormcloak’s city?” She smiled. “And don’t you think you should stay on the Brotherhood’s good side if you don’t want your own wolves to eat you?”

“I’ll take it,” the man nodded, sweating. “For Ulfric.”

“I’m sure that’s not the first time the man’s said _that_ ,” Astrid said as they left. “So. Armour washing, housecleaning, then home?”

“Yes. Just… let me find a courier first.”

 

* * *

 

_“Geldis didn’t have much left,” Drevis said, kicking the door shut behind him. “So we’ve got pickled kwama eggs, scrib jerky, scuttle, and hardtack.”_

_Nazir looked up from the brown leather-bound book he was reading. “Sounds delicious,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. He grinned, taking a sip of his flin._

_Drevis sat the platter of food down on the table before slinking over to Nazir. “What are you reading?”_

_“The House of Troubles.” Nazir patted his thigh, gesturing for Drevis to sit. “Interesting.”_

_Drevis had been surprised at the depth of Nazir’s fascination with his own culture; already, he had an excellent grasp on basic Dunmeris, and seemed to find Drevis’ people and their acerbic wit amusing rather than infuriating. He had jumped at the chance to visit Solstheim with Drevis, and despite his apparent objections at the food, seemed to have no problem eating his fair share. The first night, he’d tried each of the liquors in the Cornerclub, and spent the rest of the evening retching his guts into the ocean._

_Drevis curled into his lap, wrapping his arm around his neck. “Glad you think so. It’s an important piece of Dunmer culture.”_

_“Sounds like it,” Nazir murmured, his arm snaking around Drevis’ waist. “Four Daedra putting your people through their paces.”_

_“Might’ve known you’d be interested in that one,” Drevis smirked._

_Nazir looked straight at Drevis, smiling hungrily. “Gave me some ideas.” He slammed the book shut, the familiar smell of leather and old parchment and dust wafting up to meet Drevis, mingling with the scent of flin and need that simmered underneath. “Made me think I should test you.” A large, calloused finger traced Drevis’ jawline, brushing across his beard. “Think you’re up to the task, Neloren?”_

_A more sensible mer might have said no, might’ve ran out of the Cornerclub and never come back. Drevis was not that mer. After all, he’d been the one to seek the man out—been the one to track the dangerous, bloodthirsty assassin down, to let him pin and pry and paw at him until he came undone, and that was why he kept coming back, wasn’t it? So he could feel the adrenaline course through his veins as he wandered headfirst into the wolves’ den, feeling the jaws close around his neck just enough to make the thrill of escape that much sweeter._

_“Yes, serjo,” Drevis breathed, skin ablaze. “Please.”_

_“Go and muffle the door,” Nazir purred, his dark voice already drawing gooseflesh across Drevis’ skin. “Oh, and what’s Dunmeris for ‘silence’?”_

_“Almardi,” uttered Drevis, voice barely above a whisper._

_Nazir’s lips pressed gently against his ear, the pad of his thumb stroking gentle circles across the small of his back. “Good. If you want me to stop, say that.” He pushed Drevis forward. “Now, once you’ve taken care of the door you can crawl back over to me and we can begin.”_

 

* * *

 

The news arrived five days after Nazir and Astrid left for Winterhold, while Drevis was chopping wood in the garden. The courier shrugged when Drevis asked who sent it, but as soon as he opened the parchment, Nazir’s cursive scrawled out, simple and small: _almardi._

He fell against the wall, feeling the stone against his back as he held the page to his cheek. It was done. Ancano, gone. Relief washed over him at the thought. He knew the nightmares would still rear their ugly heads, knew he would still wake in cold sweats, gasping for breath as he felt the ghost of electricity tracing over his skin. But he no longer feared for his friend’s lives, or his own. Instead, for the first time in weeks, he felt a newfound sense of power wash over him. He may not have killed the mer himself, but he’d called for his death, and that was enough. And he’d survived. He’d persevered.

Drevis folded up the letter, placing it in his breast pocket. Nazir would doubtless be returning to the Sanctuary to lay low for a while. Drevis would have to return to the College. His heart ached, happy to have some semblance of closure, yet dearly missing the man who had given it to him. Idly, he ran his hand around his neck, for the first time in weeks feeling sad at its bareness. Part of him felt missing, but he knew exactly where to find it. And Nazir would know where to find him.

Home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT/TRIGGER WARNING: Gore, decomposition, insects, rape threats, rape aftermath, graphic torture, disembowelling, dismemberment (all the dis-es, really), fantastic racism, and some (consensual!) smut. Because why not toss some smut into a revenge gore chapter?
> 
> Chapter title means "blood" in Dunmeris, because of course it does. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Fic title means "to spill" in Dunmeris; chapter titles mean "seed", "secrets" and "blood" respectively.
> 
> As always, feedback and comments are massively appreciated!


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